


Bring Him Home

by pippa21336



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Astronaut!John, Astronauts, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, showtunes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6053638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippa21336/pseuds/pippa21336
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Alternatively: Phantom of the Space Opera)</p><p>"This is a log entry to confirm that I, Dr John Watson of the NASA Ares III mission to Mars, am alive as of the evening of Sol 6. It is also to confirm that, considering the circumstances, none of the Ares III crew broke protocol by leaving me behind.</p><p>Please God, let me live."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Him Home

**Author's Note:**

> All of my love to the long-suffering [andicanjuggle](andicanjuggle.tumblr.com) who is the good cop to my bad cop
> 
> Extra love my secrect fic twin [practicefortheheart](ao3.org/users/Practicefortheheart) for being so patient with me <3  
> Read her (unaffiliated) Martian AU over [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5551097/chapters/12803366)!

"Hooper, status report."

 

Commander Donovan leaned back in her chair, gaze drifting across the screens  in front of her. From the other side of the room the room she could hear Hawkins’ music blaring through her earphones as she worked, making some minor updates to the HAB’s central operating system. Lines upon lines of seemingly meaningless code streamed down the monitor in front of her, pausing only when she dipped in and out to change a few characters, adding some here, deleting some there. Donovan paid her no mind. She knew what she was doing.

 

“Nothing to report, Commander.”

The breathless yet chirpy reply came a few moments later, causing the ‘Hooper, Molly’ icon to light up on Donovan’s screen. “Watson and I are about halfway through cleaning the solar array. We should be coming back inside in a little while, if you still need a hand collecting those rock samples.”

Donovan rolled her eyes. She knew she meant no harm - she was only trying to make this mission feel as normal as possible for everyone - but there was a difference between ‘lending a hand’ and completing a task appointed to her by her Commander. Back in the army, that would’ve been enough to call for disciplinary action.

“Thank you, Hooper,” Donovan replied kindly, “Just come and find me when you’re back in the HAB and we’ll head out again. Alright?”

“Roger that, Commander.”

 

In the next room over, the airlock hissed. Watson appeared in the doorway a few moments later, wearing his EVA suit with the helmet tucked beneath his arm. His face was flushed and he was panting softly.

“Commander,” he said. “The storm.” Donovan raised an eyebrow.

“What about it?”

Houston had sent a message at the beginning of the day. A storm was due to hit in about two hours time, coming in from the east. The winds would be too high for it to be safe for anyone to be outside when it hit, but it wasn’t enough to abort the mission. As long as they stayed inside the HAB there would be nothing to worry about until it blew over.

Watson’s face told a different story.

“It’s almost on top of us,” he said, straightening up into a stance that Donovan knew meant ‘battle stations’, “And it looks bloody big.”

 

“ _Shit_.”

 

Donovan leaned forward in her chair and brought up the latest automated weather report.

 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

She opened the radio link to the EVA suits.

“Donovan here. Everyone get inside. _Now_.”

 

***

 

Six figures stood huddled in the centre of the HAB. The world around them shook and groaned, every gust of wind sending a fresh shiver of fear down their spines. Everyone was silent apart from Hawkins who, laptop in hand, let out the occasional tut or sigh as she attempted to navigate the weather feed in her chunky flight suit.

“Jesus _fecking_ Christ,” she growled, watching the weather map finally load on the screen in front of her. Then, more softly, “Oh, Jesus…”

“What?” Sholto leaned in over her shoulder.

“Wind speed is at one-hundred and twenty-five kmph,” Hawkins said, her brow furrowing into a concerned crease.

“That’s almost abort speed,” Stamford piped up from where he was stood behind Hooper. “If the winds reach one-fifty, the MAV’s at risk of tipping, then we’re buggered. We’re best off sitting in the MAV just in case, even if we only wait the storm to blow over in there.”

A unanimous nod passed around the group. They all looked to Donovan.

“Right.” She looked at Sholto. “Through the airlock in pairs. Once we’re out there Stamford and I will lead. You and Watson bring up the rear.” She turned to the rest of the crew. “Visibility is going to be next to nothing, so if anything goes wrong, home in on my suit’s signal. If anything goes wrong with me, you follow Sholto. Is that understood?”

 

They went in a line like school children, each holding onto the person in front. Wind ringing in his ears, Watson leaned forward towards Sholto, whose usually steady hand was clamped like a vice around his wrist.

“Everything alright, Sir?”

“Just don’t want to lose you,” Sholto replied with a slight smile, glancing over his shoulder. “Knowing your sense of direction-”

 

And then Sholto was on the floor. He rolled onto his back with a groan, the wind knocked completely from him. “Fuck.”

“What the hell happened?” Donovan’s voice crackled through his radio. As he sat up, Hooper easing him to his feet, he reached out for Watson, who had surely been knocked down beside him, but there was no sign of him. He whipped his head around but couldn’t see him through the wind.

“John is gone,” he said, “I can’t see him.”

 

“Gone? _Where_?”

“I don’t know.”

“He got hit.” Hooper’s voice trembled and she gripped Sholto’s arm tighter. “I-I think the antenna from the HAB- He went off that way.” She pointed towards the west.

“Stamford,” Donovan said, “Get to the MAV and start it up. Everyone else help me search. Line up and walk due west on the count of three.”

Donovan hooked her arm around Hawkins’ elbow. Hawkins grabbed Hooper’s hand, who in turn grabbed Sholto by the wrist. On Donovan’s command they moved forward at a crawl, eyes fixed to the ground in search of any sign of Watson.

 

A few moments later, the cabin of the MAV was filled by the hiss of the airlock equalising. Stamford stepped inside, tugging off his suit as quickly as possible. He was flicking switches and booting up system checks before he’d even got into the pilot’s seat.

“Commander,” he said, “The MAV’s already starting to tilt. We’re at… 7.2 degrees. We tip at 12.”

“Copy that,” Donovan replied.

 

They continued their search in without speaking. Hooper sniffled to herself in silence. After fifty metres or so Sholto radioed into the MAV.

“Stamford?” he said.

“Receiving.”

“Can you take off once the MAV has started to tip?” He looked over at his Commander, who shot him a quizzical look.

“I suppose so, yeah,” Stamford replied. “I can take over the manual controls and get us back at the right trajectory. Why? We’re at 9.8 degrees.”

Donovan, catching up with his train of thought, shook her head. “No. No way.”

“What?” Hooper demanded, looking between them. “What’s he doing?”

“I’m going to keep looking,” Sholto said simply, “You three get back to the MAV. There's no point in risking four people’s lives on a job that one person can do.”

“No, I won’t allow it,” Donovan insisted.

Stamford chimed in again. “Commander, we’re pushing 10.2 degrees.”

“Everyone into the MAV right now,” Donovan said. Nobody moved.

“That is an order.”

 

Reluctantly, the three astronauts turned into the wind and pushed their way towards the ship. Hawkins crawled into the airlock first, followed by Hooper, then Sholto. They waited for Donovan to follow but she didn’t appear.

“Commander?” Sholto asked. He feared the worst. There were plenty of other pieces of hardware in the communications array and around the HAB that could easily be picked up by the wind.

“If the ship starts to tip, leave,” Donovan replied a few, painfully long, moments later. “Hawkins, would the infrared cameras on the rovers be able to see through the storm? I might be able to pick up his body heat,” she asked.

“Jesus Christ,” Hawkins swore under her breath. “Why are none of you in your right bloody mind? Commander, Watson is gone. We need to leave.”

“Answer the question,” Donovan said.

“No. You know it wouldn’t. Stop clutching at straws and get back here.”

Hooper gave her a whack on the arm. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” she hissed. “Watson is our friend. She’s trying to bring him home.”

“Donovan is our Commander,” Hawkins replied cooly. “Do you want to lose her too?”

 

“The ship is at 11.4 degrees, Commander,” Stamford cut in, agitation clear in his voice. “Please. I don’t want to have to leave you behind.”

“If it’s going to tip then _go_ ,” Donovan said again. She was about forty metres away, groping blindly in a vaguely westwardly direction. The strong wind kept pushing her off course and she had lost sight of both the HAB and the MAV. “Everyone get into position and buckle in.”

“Commander, Hawkins is right,” Sholto said, climbing into his place next to Donovan’s empty chair. “Watson is gone. There’s nothing you can do. Come back while you still have the chance.”

Donovan’s radio feed crackled with the sound of the wind. “What about using the radar from the MAV?”

Stamford sighed. “No. The proximity radar is for detecting Hermes, not a single spacesuit. _Please_ , Commander-”

“Copy. I’m coming back.”

 

A few moments later, the airlock hissed and the door opened. Donovan stepped inside without a word. Silence fell as she removed her suit and climbed into her seat, buckling herself in.

“Ready for launch, but tilt is at 12.2 degrees. We’re tipping,” Stamford said, rapidly flicking switches in front of him. Beneath them the MAV buzzed into life, the humming of the ignition sequence harmonising with the creaking of the supports below.

“Launch,” Donovan replied flatly.

  
The force of the launch pushed them back into their seats like a boot to the chest. Stamford worked away furiously nevertheless, making constant adjustments to their trajectory to counteract the tilt on the ground. They rattled silently through the Martian atmosphere and, once they were at a high enough altitude, uncoupled from the boosters with a hard clunk. As the ejected hardware fell back towards the surface, Donovan looked across the cabin at Watson’s empty chair. When she lifted her eyes she saw that Sholto was looking too.


End file.
